


Heart of Glass

by Wynn



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background Jane/Thor, Background Pepper/Tony, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Female Friendship, Lots of snark and sass, Past Loki/Sif, Psychologically healthy Loki, She grimaces in response, Some unexpected angst and feels, The group tries to find Natasha a man, background Clint/Darcy, background Maria/Rhodey, background May/Bucky, background Sif/Steve, both nefarious and sincere, for various reasons, mentions of May/Ward, mentions of Natasha/Ward, past Natasha/Bucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynn/pseuds/Wynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>At a bachelorette party, Natasha expects the majority of the conversation to be about love. She just never expected that she would be the focus of the majority of that conversation. Yet as she leans back in her chair in the bar, her hands clutched around the disgusting neon confection ordered for her by Darcy, the buyer of drinks for this round, Natasha watches as every single attendee of Pepper’s party turns to her with the same question in her eyes: So, Natasha, how is your love life?</em><br/> <br/>At Pepper's bachelorette party, the group tries to find Natasha a man. The unlikeliest option: Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart of Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Title based off the song by Blondie. Fic based off a prompt posted on Tumblr: Could someone write a fic for me where Natasha is out with girlfriends (Pepper, Jane, Sif etc.)? She gets blasted on Tony’s uber-strong vodka and drunk-texts Loki promising him ecstasy. She thinks it’s hilarious at the time; not so funny when the god of mischief comes to collect on the promise. Feel free to make it as fluffy or smut-laden as you wish.

At a bachelorette party, Natasha expects the majority of the conversation to be about love. She just never expected that _she_ would be the focus of the majority of that conversation. Yet as she leans back in her chair in the bar, her hands clutched around the disgusting neon confection ordered for her by Darcy, the buyer of drinks for this round, Natasha watches as every single attendee of Pepper’s party turns to her with the same question in her eyes.

So, Natasha, how _is_ your love life?

Natasha understands the curiosity. Out of all the attendees, she’s the only one without a steady partner, at least of the romantic sort. Pepper was about to marry Tony, miraculously, after one too many brushes with death had prompted him to pop the question. Bruce, at Pepper’s prompting, had reunited with Betty, and the two of them were off on their own honeymoon of sorts with Doctors Without Borders. Jane still carried on with Thor, and he had been instrumental in setting Sif up with Steve. Clint had finally taken his head out of his ass and started dating Darcy, shortly after Tony had dared Rhodey to ask Maria out, not expecting for the two to actually hit it off. Even May had her own affair, an angst-free, spies-with-benefits arrangement with James. The overabundance of love around Natasha had never bothered her before. She cared for her friends and wanted them to be happy, and she knew perfectly well how to satisfy her own needs without the aid of a man. Yet she finds herself squirming beneath the intensity of the stares and taking a hasty drink in order to avoid the question.

May smirks at the desperate gulp. “The universal gesture for ‘it sucks,’ I believe.”

Natasha nearly gags on the foul fluorescence, restraining the urge to glare at May. “I like to think of it as the universal gesture for ‘it’s my business, not yours.’”

Darcy leans across the table, her face already flushed from the prior three rounds. “Of course it’s our business. You’re our _friend_. Whose else… Whose else’s… Whose—”

“Whose else would it be?” Sif supplies, one brow arched in amusement.

“Yes,” Darcy says, thrusting a finger at Sif. “Whose _else_ would it be?” She turns back to Natasha, determination in her eyes. “We’re going to find you a man tonight.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“Yes, we do.”

Natasha tightens her hands around the glass. “No, you don’t.” 

“Yes—”

“Yes, we do,” May interrupts before Darcy can finish. 

Natasha turns and glares at May again, but all her glare elicits is May’s best shit-eating smirk. God save Natasha from bored SHIELD mentors who loved nothing better than taking the piss out of their mentees at every opportunity. 

Taking May’s smirk as Natasha’s approval, Darcy pushes her sleeves up and claps her hands together, looking for all the world like a drunken magician about to conjure a man out of thin air. “Okay, people. Suggestion time.”

The table falls silent, willingly acquiescing to the madness. Natasha sighs and downs the rest of the sugared torment. At least Maria was buying the next round. If she wouldn’t pull rank on May and save her from inebriated matchmaking, then the least she could do was buy Natasha something decent to drink. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she leans back in her chair again and watches the collective think. She knows escape is impossible. Maria and May, and probably Pepper too, would see through any attempt to excuse herself from the table. They would stop her, Pepper out of concern, the other two out of mischief. So Natasha sits and waits and plots how best to avenge herself against May for this torment. 

“What about Wilson?” Maria says after a few moments, her lips pursed in concentration.

Darcy shakes her head. “Sam’s crazy about Sharon. He plans to ask her out when she gets back.”

Natasha sees a gleam of perversion appear in May’s eyes. “I will stab you if you say Fury,” she says, lifting the knife from the plate of Brie set before them. 

May opens her mouth.

“Or Coulson,” Natasha adds.

“Fine,” May says, snatching the knife from Natasha’s hands. She cuts off a piece of Brie and plops it on a cracker. “Spoilsport.”

“What about that other agent?” Pepper asks, a slight frown creasing her brow. “That one that Phil works with.”

“Ward?” Maria asks.

When Pepper nods, both Maria and May look at Natasha, and then they look at each other, and then they burst out laughing. 

Sif glances from Maria to May. “What causes such mirth?”

Maria grabs the Brie knife from May. “Natasha’s been there…”

“…and done that,” May finishes, her eyes bright as she glances at Natasha.

Natasha grits her teeth as Pepper gasps and Darcy squeals. “It was one time,” she says, trying to resist the impulse to shoot both May and Maria in the ass. “And it was a long time ago. And if you want to know details, you can ask May, who’s been there and done that a whole lot more recently than I have.”

Maria nearly chokes on her cracker as May shoots Natasha a glare. Natasha just shrugs and smiles. She doubted anyone besides May and Ward themselves, and possibly Coulson, knew that little tidbit of information.

Darcy gapes at May. “Seriously?” 

Natasha sees May squelch a sigh. “Yes. End of story.” Before Darcy can continue, May turns to Sif and says, “You haven’t suggested anyone yet.”

Sif fiddles with her drink, having only taken one sip, the one sip prompting a frown of disgust. “I know,” she says. “Few candidates seem worthy.”

Natasha nods and starts to push back from the table. “I agree. So why don’t we—” 

“However,” Sif says, holding up a hand and thus Natasha. A sly gleam appears in her eyes and Natasha knows that she’s doomed. “I have settled upon a few selections.”

Maria laughs as Natasha closes her eyes and sighs. She hears someone high-five Sif, likely May. Pepper pats her on the back and Natasha shakes her head, drawing the strength to open her eyes after half a minute. The whole table stares at her with loving glee, loving her she knows, but also loving this opportunity to get her on the ropes, to turn the tables that so often have her on top. Except Jane. Jane sits hunched over her drink, her gaze fixed upon the table and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Natasha frowns at the sight, but before she can ponder the matter further, Darcy says to Sif, “Okay, so…?”

“So,” Sif says, drawing Natasha’s attention away from Jane. “My first thought is your new comrade amongst the Avengers.”

Natasha frowns a moment, trying to decode Asgardian. Then she says, “You mean Pietro?”

Sif nods.

And then Darcy snorts.

Sif cocks a brow at the snort. “You disagree?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s kind of in love with his sister.”

Pepper sighs at the explanation. “No, he’s not, Darcy.”

“Yes, he is.” Darcy turns to Pepper, her face flushed from liquor and enthusiasm. “Have you seen the way he looks at her? That’s not right. That’s, like, Angelina Jolie and her brother at the Oscars level of not right.” 

The quip finally rouses Jane. “He’s just protective,” she says to Darcy. “You would be too if your dad was Magneto.”

Darcy shakes her head. “You can’t blame weirdness on bloodthirsty family members. I mean, Thor’s, like, the noblest guy I know, and look who he has for a brother.”

Jane’s eyes flit to Natasha then, and comprehension begins to dawn within her as to the focus of Jane’s prior contemplations. 

“You haven’t suggested anyone yet either,” May says to Jane, the Brie knife again in her hands.

Jane freezes, panic seizing her, both from the knife and the spotlight, Natasha assumes. Her gaze darts from Natasha to May and back again before she suddenly pushes from the table and stands. “Next round, anyone? I’m, uh, I’ll buy.”

Maria kicks back in her chair, blocking Jane’s way around the table. “It’s my turn to buy,” she says, staring at Jane like a shark scenting blood. Or a spy scenting secrets. 

May senses the sensing and turns her sensors on Jane. “You have someone in mind.” 

The not-question causes Jane to go red. Natasha watches, fascinated, Jane usually implacable about everything except Thor and astrophysics. Maybe they needed to go drinking more often. She watches as Darcy tugs on Jane’s arm, forcing her to sit back down. 

“Uh huh,” Darcy says, her hand firmly latched onto Jane’s arm. “No escaping until you spill. And no pleading the fifth either or I’ll tell Thor how you’ve been perving on Jaime Lannister from _Game of Thrones_.”

Jane’s blush intensifies. She casts another desperate glance at Natasha, but Natasha says nothing, her theory as to the suggestion solidifying and the likely reaction from the group intoxicating. 

“It’s, ah, it’s, ah—”

“Jane!” Darcy barks.

“Loki,” Jane blurts out, burying her head in her hands.

Her suggestion renders the table silent, even May and Maria, and Natasha loves it if only for this, little in the world capable of shutting those two up. Leaning forward, she plucks the knife from May’s frozen hands and slices off another piece of cheese, popping it into her mouth, suddenly enamored by the conversation. 

Maria recovers first from the shock. “Why?” 

Jane shrugs, her head still in her hands. “I don’t know,” she says. Her voice is muffled, tragic in its despair.

Darcy gazes at Jane like she’s grown a second head. “No. No, no, no. You _always_ have a reason. You have one for this. You have to.”

Another second passes and then Jane straightens, so suddenly that Darcy and Pepper start back. The misery is gone, and so is the embarrassment, replaced by defeated resignation. Reaching for her glass, Jane downs the rest of her sugary brew. Then she sighs, licks her lips, and looks at Natasha to begin. “So you know he’s trying with Thor. Which means he’s around. A lot.” 

She grimaces at that and Natasha grins. The past six months, tales had been filtering regularly from Jane to Darcy and thus to the rest of the team about the disasters that befell the House of Fosterson due to the renewed attempt at Thor and Loki bonding. A third of the tales focused on the epic mishaps that occurred while Thor tried to instruct Loki on the glorious inventions of modern Midgard while another third happened due to those moments when Loki returned to his infamous role as the God of Mischief. Those moments usually resulted in the final third of the tales, those describing the arguments between Thor and Loki that sent Jane sprinting for the sanctuary of the labs at the Tower. 

“So, a couple weeks ago,” Jane continues, “he was there because he’s always there. And he and Thor were talking about the team because Thor’s always trying to get him to socialize more, and I heard… I heard Loki say something about you.”

At that, Natasha raises a brow. Half the table turns to look at her, to check her reaction. The other half stares at Jane still, too shocked to move. 

“So,” Darcy says, poking Jane. “What did he say?”

“He said… he said you were the least insipid of Thor’s mortal minions.”

The revelation silences the table again, but not in the same manner as before. Then, sheer shock rendered everyone dumb; now confusion reigns.

“That’s it?” Maria asks, lowering her chair to the floor. “He said she’s the least boring out of everyone, and that’s your basis for Natasha sleeping with him?”

“Well… yes.” 

Maria and May glance at each other. 

At the glance, Jane crosses her arms over her chest. “You would too if you heard how he talks about the rest of the team.”

“I have,” Maria says. “Repeatedly. Who do you think has to mediate his meetings with Fury?”

“I—”

“I can see it,” Pepper puts in, cutting off Jane and bringing back the dumbfounded shock. 

This time Natasha recovers first. “Really?”

Pepper nods, liquor sloshing ever so gently as she lifts her glass. “He reminds me of Tony. A bit. Mostly when they’re sniping at each other. Tony never said anything to me either, not directly, not for years. Loki’s probably the same.” She takes a drink then, her eyes thoughtful as they gaze over the rim.

May, Maria, and Darcy all gawk at her, but Natasha follows her gaze. She finds Pepper staring at Sif, who stares off into the distance. She hadn’t offered her opinion on the matter of Loki and his alleged statement of interest. Which, of course, was interesting in and of itself. Turning to her now, Natasha says, “What’s your take?”

Sif glances at her, on guard. “Why inquire of me?” 

Natasha shrugs and slices off another piece of cheese. “You’ve known him the longest out of any of us.”

A wry smile appears on Sif’s face at that. “Length is no indication of familiarity. Every time I feel firm in my knowledge of Loki, he shifts and defies all conclusion.”

“So what does your _current_ knowledge tell you about this?”

Sif peers at Natasha, trying, no doubt, to discern her thoughts about the matter. Natasha keeps her face composed as she takes a bite of the Brie. The rest of the table shifts their focus to them, and the scene holds for half a minute before Sif succumbs to the same inevitability as Jane. Pulling in a deep breath, she says to Natasha, “It is as near a compliment as I have ever heard him come.” She pauses then and smirks. “Perhaps as near as he is able.”

Silence reigns again as they process the disclosure. Loki had been on Earth about six months, nowhere else for him to go after the fall of Thanos. He’d been instrumental in arranging that, his takeover of the throne in Asgard part of a long con to lure the Mad Titan out. Yet Odin had not taken kindly to being imprisoned and impersonated and had banished Loki from the realm. Eventually, he’d wandered to New York to reconnect with Thor. But with Thor came Jane, and with Jane came Darcy, and with Darcy came Clint and the rest of the Avengers, so Loki had reentered their world, much to the irritation of Tony and Clint and, later, Pietro. Steve worked with Thor to try to connect to Loki, still fresh from his own rehabilitation of James; Bruce had just sighed while James rolled his eyes. Wanda showed no reaction whatsoever and neither had Natasha. She liked Thor, he’d saved her life a dozen times over the years, so she wouldn’t mar his chance to reform his family by holding grudges. At least not until Loki showed signs of some sinister agenda. But he hadn’t, just exasperation with Thor, boredom at life in Midgard, and glee at irritating the team at every opportunity. 

Maria and Pepper leave to retrieve more food and drink. Natasha chews the rest of her Brie and recalls the most recent time that she’d seen Loki. It had been about a month prior at Tony and Pepper’s engagement party. Thor had dragged him along, despite his thorough disdain for the proceedings. Natasha understood, the party then as the one now, focused predominantly on love and marriage. She watched as he plucked two liquor bottles from the bar and slipped out the door, and she had wanted to follow suit, to return to her floor or out of the Tower altogether, to one of her safe houses or maybe even out of the city, but she’d stayed for Pepper, owing her as she owed so many of the— 

“You’re considering it.”

Natasha blinks, drawn from her thoughts by May. Then the statement processes and she tries not to frown. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re considering _him_ , which is the same thing.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Natasha says, aware of Sif watching the exchange.

May crosses her arms over her chest. “Not thinking about Loki or not thinking about sleeping with him?”

Natasha hesitates, just for a second, the liquor and the food and the company lowering her guard. May notices the hesitation, and a slow grin spreads across her face. The smile causes Sif to tilt her head at Natasha to try to discern the same truth, and the head tilt catches Jane’s eye, which causes her to focus again on Natasha. She decodes the meaning of the look and the smile, her brain as big as the Pacific Ocean, and her gasp of realization causes Darcy to stop banging out “Immigrant Song” on the table and take in the whole tableau, Natasha glaring at May, May grinning at Natasha, Sif studying her, Jane gaping at her. It takes a moment but understanding clicks for Darcy too, causing her to bellow “Holy shit!” across the entire bar.

The bar quiets at the exclamation. Natasha clenches her jaw and begins to reconsider the entertainment value of Loki as a possible bedmate and returns to what vengeance she can wreak for this increasing disaster.

A glass of beer is plunked down before her, breaking the stillness of the scene. “Seriously, Nat?” Maria asks as she distributes the rest of the glasses. “Loki?”

Darcy shrugs. “Why not? He’s hot. If you like pale, brunet formerly evil people.”

May smirks and eyes Natasha. “She does.”

Natasha narrows her eyes at the reference to James, but before she can retort, Pepper places a tray of crab dip and toast points beside the Brie. “Natasha does what?”

“Like attractive people who used to be evil,” Jane says, reaching for a toast point.

“Meaning Loki,” Darcy clarifies. She takes the toast point from Jane and scoops out some dip.

Pepper turns to Natasha, surprise widening her eyes, and the look pushes her over the edge. “I don’t just like people who used to be evil and I’m not considering sleeping with Loki, I was just considering _him_ because I hadn’t for a while, but it wasn’t _interest_ , it was just… just…”

“Curiosity?” Pepper asks.

“Yes.”

“Which is Romanov code for interest,” Maria says as she lifts her glass.

Natasha sighs and slumps down in her chair. “I hate you all.”

“No, you don’t,” Pepper says, nudging a napkin loaded with toast and dip toward her. 

“If you did,” Maria adds, “we’d all be dead.”

They contemplate the truth of the assertion for a moment and then May nods and Natasha does too and they laugh, all of them, their focus shifting to the food and drink before them. The beer from Maria is infinitely more palatable than the drinks from Darcy. Natasha drinks deeply from her glass, trying to wash away the taste of the neon horror but also the thoughts beginning to swirl through her mind. She hadn’t been considering Loki as a bedmate before, despite May and Maria’s assertions to the contrary, but now she does. She can’t not, little in her life actually shocking her, either personally or professionally, but this, the possibility of Loki, was too strange to resist. And not just for her. From across the table, Darcy stares at Natasha, the same magician gleam in her eyes. “I think you should do it,” she says when Natasha looks at her.

Jane frowns at comment. “Do what?”

“Natasha should sleep with Loki.”

The suggestion causes Maria to sigh. “Just because Loki’s not actively trying to kill us anymore doesn’t mean Natasha should date him.”

Darcy holds up a hand. “I didn’t say date. I said sleep with. I mean, come on, Jane’s always going on and on about Thor and his sex god skills.” She looks at Natasha and shrugs. “I doubt you’d be disappointed with Loki.”

Jane buries her face in her hands, her cheeks again red. Natasha watches as Pepper gives her a light pat on the back. Then, in the silence, the murmur so soft that the noise of the bar nearly drowns it out, “You would not be.”

As one, the table turns to gape at Sif. Even Natasha stares slack-jawed, the possibility of Sif and Loki being a reality, and not just a possibility, too much for even her to bear. Sif rivaled Clint and Tony in her lingering suspicion of Loki. Coupled with her current feelings for Steve and her past love for Thor, and those two being about as far from Loki in demeanor, morality, and appearance as a person could get, the idea of Sif liking Loki, let alone sleeping with him, crossed the line into insanity.

Darcy stares at Sif like a kid before a gift on Christmas Day. “Oh my god. Tell us _everything_.”

“You really don’t have to,” Pepper says to Sif.

Darcy shakes her head. “Yes, you do. You can’t drop a bomb like that and leave us hanging.” 

Maria raises a brow at the comment. “Us?”

“Yes, Spy Queen. Us. Don’t deny it. All of you want to know. You’re just too… too…” Darcy trails off, searching for the right word.

“Private,” Jane says.

“Polite,” Pepper offers.

“Bored,” Maria states.

“Liars,” Darcy counters. She peers around the table, her expression becoming smug at the looks in their eyes. “Your poker faces suck for being such super spies.”

Natasha follows her gaze. May clearly wanted to know; she was just letting Darcy do the dirty work. Jane squirms in her chair, wanting but not wanting to know at the same time. Pepper looks thoughtful, contemplating the possibility of knowing, while Maria sighs and takes another drink.

“Do you wish to know?” Sif asks, turning to Natasha.

Did she? Natasha looks at Sif and contemplates the extent of her curiosity. As a spy, she plied her trade with information, the more intriguing the better. And this was undeniably intriguing information, a glimpse behind the often surly and acerbic curtain of the man who had once been an adversary before becoming an ally and who was now, what? A mocking commentator? An exasperated observer?

“She wants to know,” Maria says, slumping down in her chair.

“Yes,” Sif says, still watching Natasha. As she does, the sly glint reappears in her eyes. “But she must admit so first.”

Both Jane and Darcy laugh at the sass. Pepper smiles at the surprised quirk of Natasha’s brow. Maria smirks too and looks at May, who regards Sif with pride in her eyes. 

Natasha turns to May and jerks a thumb at Sif. “Your influence, I presume?”

May shrugs, unrepentant. 

Shaking her head in disbelief, Natasha looks at Sif again, who smiles at her, knowing that she dangles an irresistible temptation before Natasha. She doesn’t press, she waits for Natasha to decide, further influence, no doubt, from May. And it works. The longer Sif waits, the longer Natasha has to think, and the longer she has to think, the more she thinks about Loki, this demon who had haunted Clint’s dreams, this unexpected savior of Asgard and the rest of the universe, this man who apparently regarded her as the most interesting of all the Midgardians. And the more that she thinks, the more she wants to know, curiosity overtaking reason within her. 

“Well?” Sif asks, arching a brow. “What say you?”

Natasha makes one last effort to withstand the pull of knowledge, the consequences of knowing undetermined and potentially disastrous, but old habits die hard, so she says to Sif, her heart quickening in anticipation, “Tell me.”

Darcy whoops at the request. She holds out a hand toward Natasha for a high-five. Smothering her smile, Natasha complies, which earns an amused snort from May. Sif lifts her glass and downs the rest of her ale. “With sincerest apologies to Agent Hill for her fine selection,” she says upon finishing, “such disclosure demands stronger accompaniment.” Leaning over, she digs into her bag and returns a moment later with two cream bottles in her hands. “My favorite mead from Asgard, one that Thor also believed you would enjoy for this celebration.”

Sif cracks the seals as Natasha and the rest finish their beer. Anticipation rises as Sif pours the golden brew into the glasses. Lifting hers, Natasha smells the faint aroma of honey and something else she can’t define, some ingredient, she suspects, native to Asgard. Maria moans at the first taste and May’s eyes flutter shut. Pepper’s hands tighten on her glass, a sure sign that more will be requested for the wedding. Sif holds out her glass toward Natasha. They clink rims and then Natasha tastes heaven in liquid form, the mead rich and smooth and what Natasha absurdly thinks sunlight would taste like if it could be consumed. Before she realizes it, she’s swallowed half the glass. The liquor warms her bones and soothes her muscles, and she sees the same on the faces around her, the deep, glorious buzz of intoxication settling in.

“Now,” Sif begins after swallowing a healthy portion of her mead, “this was long ago. I see little of the man Loki used to be in the one he is now, yet whether this is because he no longer exists or Loki no longer wishes for him to be seen I do not know.”

“But the latter is a possibility?” Natasha asks.

“Perhaps. Likelier now than before.” Sif pauses. Her eyes go distant with contemplation. After a moment, a faint smile curves her lips. “We were so young,” she says, her voice soft. “Loki had just begun to make strides to distinguish himself from Thor. For conquests, then, he naturally sought the opposite of what Thor favored.”

“Which was?” Jane asks.

“Ladies of court. Charming and refined and utterly besotted with him.” Sif shakes her head at the memory, her smile turning wry. “Thankfully his taste has improved.” 

Jane tips her head at the compliment. “Thankfully.”

Darcy points a wavering finger at Sif. “So Loki goes for you. Rough and tumble, kick ass warrior lady.”

Sif nods.

Maria leans forwards then, a slight frown on her face. “You don’t seem the type to be…” She flounders, whether from an unwillingness to voice the thought or an inability to find it due to the mead Natasha doesn’t know.

“Conquered?” she offers.

Sif straightens in her seat. “I am not. And he did not. I forbade Loki from boasting of our time together, and he didn’t. Even later, when we soured, he remained silent.” She stops again, her brows drawing together as she looks away. Some emotion shadowed her eyes, but Natasha can’t discern the kind, the haze of liquor now upon her. Yet the feeling consumes Sif only for a moment. Glancing back at Natasha, she summons a smile and says, “I do not know if Loki would extend the same courtesy now.”

Natasha smirks at the thought. “I doubt it.” She figures Loki more likely to waltz naked into the common room the next morning and wait for Tony or Clint to show up, or maybe James, so that he could revel in the chaos to follow.

“And…” Darcy says, reaching across the table to poke Sif in the hand.

“And,” Sif says, poking Darcy in return, “silence or no, you would be satisfied. Loki is… was… less selfish than you would expect. It was a matter of pride. Thor had quite the reputation.” She casts Jane a knowing look, which elicits another blush from Jane. “Loki would accept no less. This is not to say he acted without passion. On the contrary. Loki feels. Quite deeply.” Sif shrugs and lifts her glass. “Or at least he had. Now I do not know.” 

“Thor says that he does,” Jane offers as Sif takes a drink.

Darcy looks at Jane and barely suppresses her eye roll. “Yeah, but Thor has like 20/200 when it comes to his bro.”

Natasha shakes her head. “He’s not wrong.” 

The table gapes at her. Natasha shrugs and lifts her glass, drinking the rest of her mead.

“Explain,” Maria says.

Natasha looks at her. “Why? It’s obvious.”

Maria just tilts her head in response. 

“It is,” Natasha insists. “ _He_ is. You can just _look_ at him and see what he’s feeling. He’s not… He’s not…”

“You?” Darcy asks.

Natasha turns to her, her eyes wide. At the look, a flush starts deep in Darcy’s chest and spreads up her neck. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t— I mean, I know you feel, I know that, but you’re, like, the God of Poker Faces. And Loki, he’s, like, the God of… the God of…” She trails off, waving a hand around as she searches for the right word.

“Not Poker Faces?” Jane says. 

Darcy closes her eyes. “Yes, Jane. Loki is the God of Not Poker Faces. That’s _exactly_ what I was trying to say.”

Jane opens her mouth to retort, but Pepper steps in, nimbly nipping the argument in the bud. “I think Natasha’s right. And Jane, too, in her way. Loki’s not subtle with how he feels.”

Natasha nods and continues her thought to Maria. “He isn’t. He never has been. People think he is because he lies, but he doesn’t lie about how he feels. He doesn’t even lie, not really. He manipulates. He uses other people’s feelings against them, but you have to feel to be able to do that. You—” She stops then, a thought dancing at the edge of her mind, but it waltzes out of reach before she can grasp it. 

“So he wasn’t lying,” Darcy says when Natasha doesn’t continue.

“What?” Natasha asks, looking at her.

“What he told Thor. He likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t.” 

“But he said—”

“Least insipid is not interested, Darcy.”

“It is,” Sif counters. “From him.”

Natasha looks at her and then at the rest of the table. She finds everyone staring at her, expectant, as if a decision had been made in her moment of silence, as if all Natasha had to do now was call. Even Maria regards her curiously, waiting to see what she’ll do, her approval implicit in her anticipation. Gaping at her, Natasha says, “Two minutes ago you said I shouldn’t date him.”

“And you wouldn’t be,” Maria says with a shrug. 

“But—”

“You said it yourself. If he still hated us, we’d know. He might not like us, but he doesn’t hate us and he doesn’t seem to have any intention on killing us.”

“And he likes you,” Jane adds.

“Or,” Natasha says, the thought finally clarifying in her liquor-dulled mind, “he made sure to say what he said where you could hear it so you’d tell me. He just wants to see how we’d all react.”

“Foreplay for you either way,” May says, holding out a hand. Natasha glances at the hand and May clarifies the gesture. “Your phone.”

“What? No.”

May arches a brow, the look on her face that of a superior with rapidly thinning patience.

“No,” Natasha says again. “I’m not calling Loki for… for…”

“A booty call?” Darcy asks.

“The best sex you’ll ever have,” Jane states.

Maria smirks then. “It’d probably be worth it just to see how the rest of the team would react.”

Pepper giggles, her face flushed a delicate pink. “Tony might actually die of shock.” She glances at Natasha. “Or put cameras in your apartment to record everything.”

The laugher expands, sucking in Darcy next. “Thor would probably give you, like, three hundred goats to thank you. ‘Lady of Spiders, I bestow upon you these hearty beasts for bedding my wickedly hot brother.’”

Jane snorts at the imitation, and the two dissolve into laughter. Even Sif chuckles as she refills their glasses. Yet Natasha continues to stare at May, who continues to hold out her hand, demanding Natasha’s phone. 

“No,” Natasha says again.

May lowers her hand only a fraction of an inch. “Why not?”

Natasha hesitates, all eyes upon her. Why not? Why did she resist? Darcy was right: Loki was hot. And the idea of him intrigued her. But the reality? That she didn’t know. Loki had never given one inkling as to an interest in her beyond what he’d allegedly said to Thor. And she’d seen him with the rest of the team, goading them, taunting and teasing, trying to cure his boredom with Midgardian life with mischief and mockery. Maybe he’d just finally made his way to her. If that was the case, and Natasha contacted him, if she propositioned him, what would he do with that information? The ambiguity of the response makes her shake her head.

The group deflates like a popped balloon at her refusal. May drops her hand. She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest, regarding Natasha through narrowed eyes. Natasha avoids her gaze, lifting her glass and taking a drink of the mead. She sees Darcy and Jane look at each other, frowning in confusion at the turn of events. Maria opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Pepper leans forward and places her hand on Natasha’s.

“Do you think it was different for any of us?” she asks, her palm warm and her gaze soft. “You never know. Not for sure. Not with this. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

Natasha freezes at the sentiment. Is that what they thought, that she was afraid of love? Natasha, the only single one present; it must because she’s terrified of opening her heart to someone. Her eyes flit to Darcy, recalling her statement about Natasha not feeling. She had backtracked, yet instinctive responses were usually more indicative of truth than the clarifications that followed. Was this their opinion of her, Natasha the unfeeling, Natasha the cold, fearful spinster?

She bangs her glass back on the table, startling Pepper and Jane, “I am _not_ afraid of love,” she says, shoving back from the table. She tries not to sway as she stands. “Some caution in this moment is not only justifiable but smart.”

Pepper reaches out for her again. “Natasha—”

Natasha evades her grasp. “No. I’m done with this conversation. Happy will be here in twenty minutes to take us to the next bar. Find something else to talk about or I’ll have him take me home.”

At that, she walks away. No one, thankfully, rises to follow. In the dark hall by the bathroom, Natasha leans against the wall, feeling flushed and unsettled. She tries to breathe in the cool air, but her throat clamps down and her chest stutters in the effort. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t. They just didn’t understand; they hadn’t experienced what she had. They didn’t know how vulnerable emotions made a person. Not even Maria or May understood. They may have been spies like her, but they didn’t work as Natasha did, manipulating others for information, using their feelings to elicit their secrets. They didn’t know the power such emotion provided one. But Loki did. He’d used hers against her the first time they met, trying to break her with her regard for Clint. He could be trying to do the same now. Or maybe he wasn’t, maybe he was genuinely interested in her, but Natasha wouldn’t find out like this, laying herself bare before him without first knowing the ground upon which she lay. To do so would be foolish and dangerous, and this she could never be.

In the bathroom, she splashes cool water on her face and avoids looking at the mirror, but the avoidance does nothing to diminish the thoughts in her mind, Loki lurking in the background, watching her with cool eyes as he smiles.

*

Upon her return to the table, the conversation gratefully shifts. The change in locale helps, the next bar equipped with karaoke, which Darcy uses to lighten the mood. Rounds of drinks pass, they finish the rest of Sif’s mead, and talk switches to the wedding and probable location of the honeymoon. A round of vodka shots follow along with a debate about who would break first in his tux the day of the wedding, Clint or James. No one mentions Loki or finding Natasha a man, yet Natasha thinks of both as the night passes, an unavoidable occurrence on a night devoted to love.

She leans now against the wall outside this bathroom, knowing that the group waits for her, knowing that one final bar awaits. But after that? Natasha closes her eyes, the world soft and warm and wavering before her. After that, they would return to their quarters, to warm beds and willing partners. The prospect of her silent bedroom, or her cold safe house, discomfit in comparison. It had been so long since she’d been with someone, too damn long, just a brief reprisal with James when he returned, but there were too many ghosts in their pasts for them to survive. Since then, there had been no one, few at SHIELD willing to approach her and Natasha disinclined to sleep with a civilian. It didn’t matter most days. She had her work, she had her friends, she had her toys, and she had an entire world to save more often than not. She didn’t need anyone. 

But even she, sometimes, wanted someone. 

Natasha pulls her phone from her pocket. Ward would be willing. And sufficient. Her thumb hovers over his name in her list of contacts, yet she doesn’t press down, another crazier option popping into her mind and demanding her attention like the drama queen that he was. 

The world spins, hazy and slow. Loki _was_ hot. Darcy had been right about that. God, the way he wore a suit. Natasha closes her eyes at the image and smiles. He was tall and contained, but not really. Sif had been right, Loki felt and he felt deeply, the man a fucking livewire, a tempest in a gorgeous teacup.

She wondered what he looked like naked.

Natasha shakes her head at the thought, opening her eyes to catch herself as she sways. Calling Loki would open Pandora’s box, and would she want to deal with the consequences? With Ward, there wouldn’t be any. He’d be subtle. Discreet. 

Loki would stroll into the common room and lounge on a chair, waiting for the chaos to unfold, fucking delighting in it, that goddamned smug grin on his face.

Her mouth twitches at the thought. He had a great smile. When he wasn’t psychotic. Which he hadn’t been for a while. He was a murderer and a manipulator, but not psychotic. Not anymore. Natasha no longer saw the same nihilism that had driven him the first time he’d come to the planet. He cared for Thor, in his own way, and seemed to want his life here, despite the boredom that it caused. He _was_ trying as Jane said. Or as close as he was able.

Natasha tries not to sympathize, but she does.

Perhaps she does have a type.

She scrolls through her list of contacts until his name appears on the screen. All the Avengers were required to have his number, just as Loki was required to have a phone and to answer it should any of them call, this one of the many stipulations that allowed him to remain on Earth. Few ever called him though, just Thor and sometimes Steve. Maria did too to schedule his meetings with Fury. But Natasha had never called. She’d never wanted to call, never having a reason to, and Loki had never called her. But few people did, just Clint and sometimes Steve. Every so often James contacted her, when the ghosts overwhelmed and he needed someone who knew them to listen, but those moments were few and far between now.

Natasha looks down the hall to the bar beyond, bright and loud and chattering with life. Maybe they thought she didn’t want them to call. She didn’t. Most of the time. Some of the time. Natasha generally preferred solitude, not because she disliked company, but because that was who she was, isolation in her core, a fact from the Red Room that she could never shake. They had raised her to work alone. To be alone. Not even her time with James could change that, the two of them never a pair, not really, just two anomalies who had gravitated toward each other, the two of them alone together. 

Natasha leans her head against the wall as she remembers Loki leaving the engagement party, the look on his face as he slipped out unseen. Was he alone because he wanted to be or because he had to be? 

She closes her eyes, her throat again tight.

Was she alone because she wanted to be or because she thought she had to be?

Half aware, her fingers type the message and hit send.

*


End file.
